Past Tension
by libramoon-scorpiovenus
Summary: Past tension. Present tension. Future tension. (Rating due to fluctuate. Review if you'd like to see more.)
1. The F Word

**Past Tension**

 _Preface: The F Word_

Fluttering. Feeling. Frisking. Faltering. Fingering.

Every "f" word entered her head in a steady rhythm until she felt the big one rising in her throat.

Fuck.

She watched. His hands trailed the edge of a manilla folder while he held the end of his pen delicately between his lips. He looked at her.

"Nice work today, Catherine. Sleep well."

Fuck me.

"Thanks, Gil. You too."

It was not like this every night. Catherine did not enjoy reducing herself to lusting after her boss, her friend, her confidant. It was just something in the way he moved when no one was looking. It was the fact that he didn't do anything different. He wasn't a new person when he thought no one was watching. He was always so explicitly himself. It made her wonder.

It made her wonder so much sometimes that she found her curiosity digging deeper. 'How does he kiss?' she pondered. 'How does he touch you when he wants you? Does he make sound when he makes love?' She wondered if he was true to himself and his reserved nature down to the very acts of nature that kept her busy on lonely nights.

He looked at her tonight the same way he always had; with warmth and tenderness, the kind associated with close friendship.

She looked at him the same way she had since this friendship blossomed; with pity, curiosity, and a subtle yearning for him to look up and really notice her.

Even if he did notice her, she knew him well enough to know he played by the rules. No bias in the lab. No running in the hallway. And no dating colleagues. Catherine wasn't even sure is he allowed himself to date, period. He always had a way with letting women go and making it look like it was their decision. A keen eye like Catherine's quickly caught on. He was just suited to be alone.

She faltered in that doorway for a thirty second eternity before he noticed and put his pen down. She didn't want to, but her body took it upon itself to quicken her breathing. She was suddenly wrought with nervousness.

"You alright, Cath? Something troubling you?"

Fuck me now.

"I, uh. Yeah I know it sounds ridiculous but, will you walk me to my car? This case has me a little rattled."

Catherine had always been good at lying. Her speaking style gave headway to lying as though it were an innate habit. She didn't lie about important things, not really. Only times like these did she lie when it was easier than to cut herself open and bleed feelings.

"Of course I will."

Fuck me hard.

"Thanks."

There he was; Gil Grissom in the flesh standing only a few inches taller than her. It was enough to feel inferior because of aching desires for him, but now those couple inches made her feel even smaller and more vulnerable. She wished she was so small it didn't matter; small enough even to slip between the seams of the floor tiles and disappear.

His hand on her lower back during their quick footed journey down the hallway made her walk faster. She wasn't sure if she wanted to get away from him or if she was quickly getting them to the privacy of the parking garage so that she could turn and grab him.

They arrive at her car, her nice shiny black work vehicle that she lovingly refers to as 'The Beast". She's pretending to find her keys, picking through her purse and appearing to have misplaced them.

"Catherine, you're shaking. Let me help."

Oh fucking fuck.

"I'm sorry."

His hands are cool as they brush along her own and take her purse. She stands awkwardly, waiting for him to find her keys which are in a very obvious place.

"Will you be able to drive?" He waited.

Fuck you.

"I'll be fine. Thank you, Grissom."

Catherine pulled herself into her vehicle and didn't dare make any eye contact after that. He would just assume she was saving her pride, as per usual, and everything would be fine and forgotten by tomorrow nights shift.

At home she curled into bed hating herself, though that felt quite normal. Her hands wandered around her body, pushing her senses, but the exhaustion weighed heavy on her eyelids and she was asleep before she even reached her destination. She dreamed of nothing that she would would remember. Tomorrow would come too soon for her liking and she would have to pretend all over again.

Fuck him.


	2. More F words

**Past Tension**

 _Chapter One: More F Words_

Menacing red lights peeled her eyes open ten minutes before the alarm was due to go off.

Fucker.

It was every night now. _Those ten extra minutes probably don't matter,_ she thought. But then again, add up those ten minutes night after night and you are looking at an entire day of sleep missed in the last six months. She wished she could cash in that day now, roll over, and go back to sleep.

Once she was on her feet, Catherine didn't feel quite as shitty, but shitty still. It wouldn't be until that first cup of coffee in the break room that she would warm up. _He_ would be there, don't you know. Asking if she slept well, if she was hungry, if she needed anything.

Fucking idiot.

She was starting to get this attitude with him out of sheer frustration. She didn't dare say she liked him, so she let it fester and turn into a sore spot. It was like having a canker sore on the inside of her bottom lip; constantly tonguing it and getting increasingly angry with its existence. Only, she couldn't stop tonguing him.

Tonight she was focused on her case, flitting around the lab waiting on blood results. She was interested, most definitely, and the one thing she would always admit was that she loved her job. This was her cocaine. This was her freedom.

Until _you know who_ rounds the corner with that shy smile.

"What?" She snaps.

Ah, there it is; Grissom's famous "there's no need for such attitude, I am still your supervisor" look.

"No coffee this morning?"

Fucking brilliant.

"Sorry." She tosses hair over her shoulder and gathers herself appropriately. "What's up?"

"Just wrapping up for the night."

What the fuck?

Catherine glanced curiously at her watch.

She blew out a long breath. "It never ceases to amaze me how time disappears at this place."

Catherine hadn't realized how long it took her to process her evidence and how long she spent elbows deep in paper work. The cramp in her hand should have been a red flag.

"Yes, and my desk looks better because of your timely efforts."

Fucking poet.

He always said things so _nice._ Always well thought sentences. Such a well read man probably reserves the right to say such things. It wasn't even that what he said was fancy or clever; it just sounded nice. She liked it. And she hated him for it.

"Yes, well, I can't guarantee that I will feel inclined to repeat my productivity tomorrow, " She says. She could speak on his level. This was easier than it seemed.

He smiles and chuckles a bit in that reserved way he always does. It was as if he were amused by a small child or animal. She seemed to arouse this behavior in him. If she were to over analyze the situation, which she definitely was NOT doing, she might think that he was a little smitten with her.

As Murphy's Law dictates, things just had to keep going wrong, in the most melodramatic of ways. The end of shift has riled the graveyard mummies from their stations and one by one, they begin bustling down the halls towards locker rooms and parking garages.

Then there was Greg, the high energy, young, spirited kid, barreling down the hall yelling after Nick and Warrick. Catherine was so very unamused and tried to drown out his voice, but that worked against her. She failed to move and was nearly knocked completely down.

"Sorry Kit-Kat!"

She would have scolded him for the use of the forbidden nickname, but she was too busy being flustered and in Grissom's arms.

Fucking _perfect._

This _is_ what would happen to _me,_ she scoffed. Of all the awful cliche things she ever imagined happening, she really hadn't thought her life would resort to this type of thing. What was she supposed to do; look into his eyes, meaningfully, until someone made the first move?

Fuck that.

Yet there she was, unable to balance herself and unable to look away from Grissom.

"I'll kill him?" he offers with a smile.

So fucking _nice._

"Not if I kill him first."

Grissom straightens her out and leaves her to stand on her own, remaining in close proximity.

"You wanna go get some coffee, Catherine?"

Her face scrunches up. "Don't you have anything stronger to offer?"

"Come on," he gestures. "I've got screwdrivers and stuff for pancakes."

She leads down the hallway, running a hand through her hair. A drink at his place was just the kind of torture she was looking for.

Fuck yes.


End file.
